


Restless

by Dimdive



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Curses, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Injury, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Police Brutality, Pre-Canon, Pre-Cybertronian Civil War, Pre-Earth Transformers, Pre-War, References to Illness, Slice of Life, caste system
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:15:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28115253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dimdive/pseuds/Dimdive
Summary: Sparks are cheap in Blaster City.The Situation in the southern City States is getting worse and worse, the lower castes are suffering and the High Council does nothing to change that. The People are becoming restless.Lowburn is one of them.
Kudos: 1





	Restless

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the Aligned Continuity lore.  
> I thought about the situation before the war. It has a lot of potential for many characters, I thought to myself. Now we are here.
> 
> Do you like this setting?

It was calm, in the northern States. It was always calm there, because nobody would ever assume it could be different than that.  
But while it was calm in the high castes of Cybertron, it was the exact opposite on the other side of the planet.

The low castes were restless, in a constant state of emergency. Since the Senate had cut the special supplies for Tarn, Kaon, Blaster and Slaughter City, where they were the most needed, many were starving on the streets. Rumours of the Senate taking slaves were whispered in the shadows and in the arenas the gladiators were fighting incessantly. The Melting Pits were active and their heat seemed to radiate over their helmets, a warning not to appear casteless at all times.  
Life had never been good for them, but lately it had been worse. 

"Have you heard? A Casteless tried to steal Energon from an Enforcer patrol", Fraysting said, pulling a large slab of yellowish metal after him, creaking from its weight. "Shot him right through the chassis."  
Lowburn just hummed, trying to balance his weight on the uneven ground. 

They were marching through the open plain between Blaster City and the Badlands, the city just a dark flat silhouette against the stale sky, smoke from the open fabrics curling upwards.  
A small ship had crashed in the plain and a small exodus of mechas was now busy with freeing the destroyed skeletal structure from all its pieces. If the pilot had been dead before they had arrived was hard to tell, the Spare-part harvesters had arrived first. Now there was little more than his Protoform left. 

"The price will be low now. Should I wait before selling it?", Fraysting asked with clenched dentas, servos digging into the metal of the panel. Lowburn shrugged. "If you can keep this thing hidden, sure, try. But don't you have to pay for, like, five rations?"  
Fraysting laughed. "Ah, thanks for reminding me. You sound like the Distributor."  
"Nah, less greedy."  
"Barely", Fraysting pointed to Lowburns rough servos, full of little circuits and cables.  
"Fragger. At least I know what I'm doing and don't have to take half the outer hull!", he snapped back, grinning.  
They both laughed deeply and looked to the ground. 

A crash was always a good thing. It kept them fed and paid. The simple life of a pilot didn't matter, he was probably better off dead anyway. But it would bring them much good. 

They got into the city, the first stolons leaking into the plain. Hungry optics stared from holes in walls, watching them carefully. They had to be careful or they would loose their loot as fast as they got it.  
A bulky mech sat on the ground, leaning against the ruins of a burned down cabin. He was missing an arm, brown spots all around the older wound. He didn't move, but his optics still gleamed with dull light.  
Lowburn tried not to look at him, leaning towards Fraysting.  
"What's with the wound? Is that..." "Rust? They say that it has killed dozens in Slaughter City. Hope it'll stay away. Although I could probably pay a medic with this", Fraysting nodded back to the piece of ship.  
Little did they knew back then that there was nothing that could stop an infection with the Rust plague.  
But now they just kept walking. 

They soon reached the crossroad where they had to split up. By now, the buildings were higher and less handcrafted, blocks of metal. Accommodations for workers like them. The air was humming with the sounds of machines and now and again a shuttle roared over their helmets. Thick smoke darkened the sky. It was loud and full here, lights everywhere. Those who could afford Highgrade drank it in some of the many small bars, one dirtier and darker that the other. The others strolled through the streets, buying spare parts such as optics, digits, audials and visors, or simply worked in the munition factories. Lowburn himself worked in one of those giant armament factories, but he had someone else cover his shift. The factory owners didn't care what the workers did as long as the work was done. Sparks were cheap in Blaster City, and the ones to pay for them were yet to be found. 

Lowburn got to his quarter and tapped the short code into the scratched number field at its door.  
It made an ugly sound and prohibited the access.  
Lowburn frowned and tried it again. The door was still closed.  
"Frag", he cursed and kicked the wall, leaving a dent.

"Ah, Slowburn, right?", a voice said behind his back down the hallway. He turned around.  
It was Blacklight, the owner of the building, who was standing at the end of the hallway with crossed arms. "You didn't pay the last two rents. Guess you'll have to search for a new quarter", he shrugged and wanted to turn away again.  
Lowburn stared at him in shock. "What? I told you I'd pay as soon as I got Shanix!", he protested, anger bubbling up in his chassis.  
"It's taking to long. You have to leave."  
Lowburn huffed, clenched his servos around the circuits and nodded towards the door. He knew he could find another quarter. "Open up and I'll get my stuff."  
Blacklight cocked his helmet. "In the case of an eviction the material inside the room goes to the legitimate owner."

There was a short silence. "What."  
"It's in the contract."  
"There is no fragging contract!" Lowburn came closer to the smaller mech, staring down at him with bright optics. "Open that door or you're going to regret it", he hissed through clenched dentas. 

Blacklight stepped back, a slim smile around his scratched faceplates. "I wouldn't do that if I were you. I have friends with the Enforcers, you know?"  
"Frag the Enforcers! They are not here now, but I for sure am!", Lowburn yelled back, ventilation working hard. "I have my rations in there, mech!"  
He heard steps coming closer from the other side of the hallway but didn't bother to turn around, at least not until he heard an electric hiss and saw the smug look in Blacklights optics.

"Is there a problem here?", the Enforcer asked, the sigil of his caste broad on his green chassis. Two white stripes on his shoulder pads marked him as an officer. The electro-rod in his servo was pointed on Lowburn, it gleamed in dangerous blue.  
Lowburn raised his servos carefully, spark suddenly turning fast. "N-"  
The Enforcer pressed the rod into the soft parts of his chassis as soon as he made a sound. Racing pain shot through his body, making him shake as the charge ran over his plating. His optics nearly overloaded, he was temporarily blinded, going to the ground in agony.  
"F-fragger", he groaned with his faceplates in the dirt. The Enforcer kicked against his helmet and turned away.

Lowburn got up as soon as he could, stumbling out of the building with one servo on the wall and the other one on the wound. A thin stream of energon ran from his audials and he cursed silently while trying not to fall. Charge still crackled through his system, making his protoform burn.  
Fear nearly choked his ventilation. Where should he go? He had no Shanix, nothing, no place to stay, frag frag frag! That little... There was no word in his mind to accurately soothe his anger.  
His spark rotated in his chest while he looked up into the darkened sky of the city. Mechas were walking around him, bumping into him, he didn't care.  
Frag.

Lowburn later managed to stay alive with a little help from his contacts and friends, keeping his work and finding a new quarter.  
He died when the munition factory where he worked got destroyed by a terrorist bomb in the early stages of the war. The explosion was so enormous it even blinded observers on the Moon Bases.  
Nobody cared to count the dead, because Sparks were cheap in Blaster City.


End file.
